Queer and Reaped
by diepolitiker
Summary: What happens when two girls from different districts fall in love on their way to the arena? Can one find her will to live again, and the other make it back to the family who needs her? They're smart, but the Capitol's rules state only one can survive. And the arena has cameras everywhere, so what will Panem, the Capitol, and their families think of what they have? 63rd HG.
1. Reaping

**District 3, two hours before the reaping**

The repaired alarm clock clanged three inches from my ear on that hot, hazy morning. I snaked an arm out from under the shabby blue electric blanket, turned off at the moment because of the heat. But I was still under it because for some reason, I could never sleep without a cover. I switched it off and blinked groggily at my painful arm.

There were a few small bloodstains on my sleeve. Since I wasn't one of my district's wealthier people, this was one of four shirts I owned. Crap. Never mind though. I had enough experience to know how to clean up blood. I listened carefully, ears searching the three-room shack my mother and I shared. She wasn't here. Probably getting some clothes. We hadn't gotten along for almost two years now, but she still did what she did for us both to make the reaping a little easier. Every reaping, we each got a new outfit. I'd wear it today. What my mother didn't know, though, was that she'd lose me today. Her only child Not that it would matter all that much to her. When I told her what I was, she said she should have aborted me.

_You're the reason for that_, I thought to myself, scrubbing at the bloodstains in the tiny, grimy sink. _Well, maybe that's unfair. You, all the girls who constantly whisper about me and avoid me, all the guys who push me around…and of course, __**him.**_ I didn't like to think about him if I could at all stop myself from doing so. I was strong now, though wiry, from always being picked on and having to fight, but I hadn't been strong enough a year ago. I was only fourteen then.

He'd raped me.

If he got reaped, I'd get him. I'd worked with batteries and wires all my life, and could get a charge from almost anything. The thought of him twitching and jerking, screaming brought me satisfaction.

I touched the outline of the knife in my pocket and smiled at my reflection. I had dealt with all of them for the last time. Had coped the only way I knew how for the last time. Because I'd be dead in a matter of days.

I was going to volunteer. I had nothing to live for. Every day was a struggle. Every day I faced violence, threats, gossip, and hatred. Still, even if I was heading to my death, I wanted to look good for the cameras. I wet my hair and used the last bit of hair gel to style my abnormally short, dark brown, spiky locks.

I heard the door open eventually. She was home. "Tegan, are you here?" Of course, no one but us could understand our conversation. My mother clung on to her dead language, passed down from mother to daughter. German.

"I'm getting ready! Thanks. Just hand me my outfit through the door," I mumbled. When she did, I was pleased with what she'd found- black pants and a slightly baggy blue dress shirt. Probably meant for a guy, but oh well. I didn't have much of a chest. At least after last year's huge blowout because my new reaping clothes were a dress, she hadn't bought another.

I hate dresses. I hate makeup. It all just got in the way. I knew I looked like a guy, but I never really minded. I felt somehow…more myself, the less girly I was.

I didn't take very long to get ready. After that, there was nothing to do but wait for the moment where I'd ensure my own death. I felt somehow happy. At last, my problems would end.

**District 10, two hours before the reaping.**

Something wet hit my collarbone as I lay curled up with Jack and Abby, my tiny, perfect niece and nephew, in the late-morning sun. Our reaping was one of the later ones, so I let the kids sleep in, though I'd been awake for hours. Jack was crying in his sleep. I stroked his hair. "Shh. I won't get picked," I whispered. Who was I trying to reassure? He couldn't hear me. I couldn't get reaped. Not with them to look after. But it was because of them that my name was in more times in the first place.

My parents had died in a cattle stampede when I was eleven. Crushed to death. I always felt crushed too, thinking about it. That left me and my two older brothers, sixteen and eighteen, Jack and Casper, alone.

Then we'd lost Jack two years later. That was the reason my nephew was named Jack, too. My brother had just gotten married, and even though he was working, he and his new wife never had enough to eat. We never did either.

And his wife was pregnant and getting more gaunt every day. He was convinced she'd lose the baby if she didn't get enough to eat. So he started sneaking food. It worked for months, until days before Jack and Abby were born. The Peacekeepers finally caught on, and killed him, only sparing his wife because of these two next to me.

It was all for nothing anyway. She'd died in childbirth four days later. But they survived, Jack and Abby, named after the parents they'd lost. And I did everything to make sure they had a good life. I took out tesserae, helped herd the cattle into the outdoor stockyard pens because I was still a year too young to really work, and tried to replace both their father and mother.

I felt it was never enough, but they looked well-fed and seemed happy. Except for today.

They woke up, interrupting my helpless daze. Little four-year-old hands clamored to be fed, to be held, to be hugged. They both looked so worried for me I could almost hear my heart breaking.

My name was in there twenty-one times at 17. "There are so many slips. So many other kids are worse off, they're in more times," I told the kids.

Casper was out, working a few hours before the reaping started. I appreciated his help, but it was just as well that he was out. Lately, every time we talked, he bothered me about dating. I didn't want to date. I never even looked at guys.

If he, or anyone, knew who I _did_ look at, I'd never hear the end of it. I could get hurt or even killed, and then what would happen to these two? They needed me, so I'd always have to hide.

After breakfast and trying to tame the twins' unruly red hair, I got myself ready, brushing out my shoulder-length hair that was a very muted red-brown, and putting on my one nice dress, green, a hand-me-down from my late mother. I was strong from working with the cattle, looking out for the kids, and trying as best I could to train using whatever was lying around at odd moments, but I was sure if I got picked, despite my strength and having had enough to eat at least until my parents died, I'd be dead.

Abby came up to me as I sat at the table. "It'll be all right, Katja. You won't be picked. Just remember, _ich liebe dich." _I love you. My parents had taught us all they knew of their past language, called German. It gave us an advantage in the district- we could talk, and say what we wanted, without being overheard. We were careful not to flaunt our knowledge, though.

**District 3 reaping.**

I stood, fidgeting impatiently, in the group of fifteen-year-olds from my neighborhood, but not close enough to anyone that they could push or hit me. But that couldn't stop the constant whispers that continued even on reaping day. The whispers even continued during the Treaty of Treason, only stopping when our escort, Theo, a short, stout man whose white-blond hair stuck straight up as if he'd stuck a wire into a socket, thus adding several inches to his height. I knew it was probably just gel, but it did look interesting. Our victors, Beetee and Wiress, stood behind him, looking defeated. 3's tributes, though smart, just weren't strong or physical, so they usually died in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

I kept my eyes on Theo. "Welcome to the Sixty-Third Hunger Games! Ladies first!" he cried and practically bounced to the girls' was my moment, and I found myself quite calm. I had wanted to do this for a long time. Well, not to volunteer. But to die.

I didn't even let him get the girl's last name out. "Jesslyn-" he began before I cut him off by shouting,

"I volunteer!" But as I moved from the group out towards the stage, he looked confused. "Only a girl can volunteer for a girl! What are you doing?"

Oh great. "I _am _a girl! Check your records, my name's Tegan Jagger! You'll see," I shouted back, then pulled my shirt tightly over my chest to show off what little I had.

Theo looked a bit embarrassed as he consulted a thick book on the podium in front of him. After an awkward minute, he said, "Well, then, Ms. Jagger. I'm sorry. Do come up."

I stood onstage looking almost bored. A thought flashed through my mind as Theo reached into the boys' ball. _If it's him….no, it won't be._

But it was. "Fuse Jacobson!" Theo cried. It was. One more thought flashed through my mind. _I am not shaking hands with my rapist._

So I punched him in the nose instead. The last thing I heard as the Peacekeepers dragged me off was, "We're glad to see you go, you stupid queer!" "Dyke!" someone else echoed.

Even better. Now I'd been outed on live TV. But none of it would matter in a week or so. In fact, I welcomed anything that might cause the others to target me.

**District 10 reaping.**

Jack and Abby were sobbing as I pried them off me and handed them to Casper when it was time to go stand with the other seventeen year olds. "I'll be right back!" I promised. "I won't leave!"

"What if you get picked?" Jack choked.

"I won't!" I insisted, but I glanced over at Casper. _If I do…please, please take care of them. Don't let them see it happen when I die._ I couldn't bear the thought of them losing the person who'd raised them. I went to stand in my area, all the while glancing back at them. I was on the perimeter, and Casper was holding my hand under the rope. "I'm right here," I told the kids. "And I'm not moving. _Ich liebe dich._" I kept repeating that to them like a charm that would keep me safe, keep us safe, as the treaty was read out, Dalton and our escort, Cleopatra a tall, dark-haired woman with an expressionless, altered face and a build like the oxen we tended, took the stage, and her hand went to the girls' ball.

I registered the pain on the kids' faces before I registered the name. "Katja Berlin!" Both of them scrambled out of Casper's arms, and clung to me, screaming piteously, shrilly in my ears. "They can't…we need you, Aunty!" Abby screeched.

I needed to get them off me. Not only was this upsetting, and I couldn't break down on camera, but I could barely move. They had grabbed my legs. I looked to Casper, then the Peacekeeper nearest me. They got the message, and literally dragged the kids off. _Now pull it together_, I told myself. _You promised you'd come back. And they need you more than anything._ I realized. I had to win this.

I forced my features into what I hoped was a smile and walked quickly and confidently to the stage. "Thank you for the honor of picking me, Cleopatra. I think I can win this thing," I said sweetly, yet firmly.

I didn't know the boy who was picked, Alamo. He was only thirteen, but I knew, to get back to Jack and Abby, I'd have to kill him. I hated shaking his hand.

The last thing I heard as I was taken into custody were both the twins screaming, "_Ich liebe dich,_ Katja!"


	2. Goodbyes

**Katja's POV.**

The twins' cries rang in my ears, and I dreaded the goodbyes I'd be making in a minute. I sat in a small, slightly shabby, but ornate room off a little-used corridor in 10's Justice Building. The couch I was on was made of a creamy, soft cloth with a gold blanket thrown over the back. I fidgeted with the tassels on it, braiding and unbraiding the blanket's edge. Until finally there were footsteps outside. Casper's, surprisingly light for his size and with a slight limp I could hear, the heavy tramp of Peacekeeper boots, and the small scurrying of Jack and Abby's tiny feet.

_No._ I thought. If I had to go through a repeat of what they had done when I was reaped, there was no way I'd be able to walk out of here dry-eyed, which I needed to do. In order to come back, I couldn't show any weakness. I was already thinking of my angle. Sure, I was tall, five-foot-eight, and despite our reduced circumstances since my parents' deaths, I had a bit more meat on my bones than most of the other kids in the district, but I knew making it out would be nearly impossible. Without any real training, that is. And the Careers often topped six feet and two hundred pounds easily. I would show my determination. Talk about Jack and Abby. Tell all of Panem I would win for them. The Capitol people were so sentimental, they would hopefully buy into it, gaining me sponsors. And my intelligence. It was a different sort of intelligence than reading or math, but it would be an incredible asset both in the Capitol and the arena.

I knew how people thought. I could predict what they were going to do, understand their minds. I'd even, I thought with the smallest twinge of shame, manipulated many people in my district using that knowledge. I had to feed the kids, so I'd tug on people's heartstrings, make them offers they couldn't refuse, use logic. Anything I had to. It worked. And I could tell so much about a person even from the smallest glimpse or moment with them. The way they talked, moved, held themselves, reacted.

I had to stop thinking about my angle when the door flew open, revealing what was left of my family, Casper's shirt sopping wet with the twins' tears. _Okay. One minute. One hug._ I could give them that without breaking down. I knelt down next to Abby first, because she was crying the hardest, barely able to breathe. "Listen, _schatzi_," Treasure. "I'm going to try everything I can to win. You know I don't want to leave you two. I'll do anything to get back to you." I told Jack pretty much the same thing, then looked seriously at Casper. "You need to get them out of here," I whispered over their sobs. "Or I'll start crying too."

He looked apologetically at them, identically sad on the floor. "I need to talk to Katja in private. We don't have long. She loves you, but you need to leave now. Wait in the hall and be quiet. _I mean it_." He fixed them with such a hard stare, one usually reserved for the Peacekeepers, that they obeyed instantly, even in their shock.

"I'm already thinking of a strategy," I told him as soon as the door swung shut on them. "I'm still too small for fierce, but too old and tall to pull off innocent. I'm going for determined and smart. You know how much I know about how people's minds work. Those Capitol idiots…I'll just play them. And I am kind of strong. If I had the element of surprise, I could club or spear someone."

Casper nodded. "Get a club. I've seen you knock out troublesome cattle, corral them. You just hit them in the back of the head and they go down. It can't be too different with people."

I nodded back. "Just take care of them! There's no me now to manipulate her way into getting us full stomachs. Less income too. And…don't let them see it."

Then there was nothing more to say. Casper was never very talkative, but after a few minutes, the silence got to me, and the secret I'd been camouflaging ever since my first childhood crush roared into the forefront of my mind and spilled out of my mouth before I could stop it. "Casper…I…as long as I may not come back anyway, and I know it wouldn't matter even if you did tell people…even if I come back, then I'll be a victor. It won't matter…I…like girls. Not guys."

I could hear the Peacekeepers in the hall again, but Casper had time to hug me and smile at me. And I knew in that instant that it really didn't matter to him.

**Tegan's POV**

The Peacekeepers weren't happy about me punching Fuse- I could hear them grumbling about it through the closed door, heavy oak though it was. I sat in an underused room, behind a highly polished table on a soft leather chair. But, rules are rules. I would still get my goodbyes. I examined my reflection in the table wonderingly. How could there be enough polish to get it to look like this? I knew I had an hour, but truth be told, I wasn't really expecting anyone to come. After I'd come out, told her I liked girls rather than guys, and in fact would rather look more like a guy, she had never again said she loved me. Instead, cruel and snide little remarks were my daily fare. If she had said she wished she had aborted me, then she would be happy to see me die.

I felt nothing as the door opened and she came in. I had nothing to say to her. All she said was, "If you make it home, Tegan, I'll never say another mean word to you again." Something close to regret flashed across her face. "Here. I was saving this for myself for my birthday in a few days, but you can have it." She tossed something tightly wrapped in thick cloth, and heavy for its small size, onto my lap. Fumbling a little in surprise, I hastily undid the knot and a wonderful, long-forgotten smell filled the air. Two smells, actually. Chocolate and coffee. I wasn't even sure if it was possible to grow those things anywhere in Panem. I could hardly believe my senses; I had only had coffee and chocolate once before, and never both together.

I shrugged, acting as though I didn't care, but offered her one of the chocolate-covered coffee beans too before I popped one into my mouth. It was wonderful, bitter, strong, and somehow sweet all at once. We sat for only another minute in awkward silence before the Peacekeepers got her.

They told me I had another visitor, too, so my mother had to split the time. I didn't mind her leaving, but I wondered who the visitor would be. I had no friends, no other relatives. Why would anyone say goodbye to the girl who was always everyone's scapegoat?

Waiting. I ran one hand over the most recent scars, on the back of my wrist. The stylist and my prep team, I thought suddenly. Aside from my back, which I couldn't reach, there was no place where more than a few inches of my skin at a time were unmarred. This would probably make them puke. They might have to redesign the costume. But none of it mattered.

The door creaked hesitantly open, and a tall, well-fed, blond, pretty girl, a merchant's daughter, came in. She sat at the other end of the table. Maybe she was afraid I'd hit her, too. And let's be honest. I wanted to. She was Quin Marks. My worst enemy.

It had been brutally hot that night I came out to my mom, so our windows were all open. Quin had been walking by at exactly the wrong moment. She overheard. Eavesdropped. Gossiped. And before I knew it, most of the district had turned against me. School was hell. That was when I'd begun to pick up the knife.

Quin asked what my mother noticeably had not. "Tegan. Why did you volunteer? You didn't even know Jesslyn whatever-her-name was. I saw that look- I was standing one row over. You looked like you were already dead. Like you'd planned to do this."

"What do you care why I volunteered?" I nearly yelled. "I'm just going to go in there and die! You all want me to! Do you have any idea what you _did_ to me by spreading it around- _what I am?" _I would have continued yelling, but an out-of-place sound startled me.

Quin was crying. "S-suicide," she stammered. "You volunteered to kill yourself."

I nodded. "But why do you care how I feel? What I do? The district's better off without "a butch, bitchy queer," to mess it up. You always call me that," I mocked. "Get out." Moving around the table towards her chair, I got close enough to push her out if she wouldn't leave.

She didn't resist my harsh grip. "Go on then. Punch me like you did Fuse. I deserve it, and more. It should be me dying, not you. I deserve that…for how I treated you." I was so surprised I took a few steps back. My fist was half-up before I stopped. No. I could do some good before I died. Have mercy. But I wanted her to know what she'd caused.

"I punched Fuse because he raped me. _Because he knew I was gay_. He told me, "isn't it better with a man?" while he was…"

Quin had to clear her throat a few times because all she could do was make a weird croaky sound. "Oh God," she finally managed. "My fault."

I shrugged, when what I had really wanted to do was nod. "And that's not all," I added, quickly unbuttoning my dress shirt and peeling it off to reveal skin and a skimpy tank top underneath. "I couldn't take how life got to be after everyone knew. So this happened. Almost every day. I volunteered because there's nothing here worth living for. And I'm too much of a coward to do the thing properly."

Quin was sobbing now, white with shock, as she took in my innumerable scars and cuts. "You did…?" It was several uncomfortable minutes until she finally calmed down, and by that point, I could hear the Peacekeepers' boots coming for her. She heard it too. "Nothing can make up for…but I can try to make this right. Encourage people from Three to sponsor you. I might even have enough for one tribute gift, I…will you take this? Your token?" It's a silver pin shaped like a lightning bolt. Then the Peacekeepers are through the door. "I'm sorry," she choked as they led her away.

I hadn't felt anything, really, for so long, so I was surprised when I found myself feeling almost sorry for Quin. If I had been intending to come back from the arena, I might've forgiven her if I did.


	3. The Last Good Thing

**(A/N: Please review! I know this is getting at least some views. I had to do some guesswork as to the locations of 3 and 10, but I think where I put them makes sense. I'm having trouble with Tegan's personality though. Right now she's very rough around the edges, but how do I soften that to create something between her and Katja? Hmm.)**

**Tegan's POV**

It was time to go. The desert sun blazed high overhead now as the Peacekeepers led Fuse and I to the train. I hated being this close to him, and fought the impulse to run. I had to keep my face neutral. It had to be 100 degrees here. 3 was in what was formerly, before Panem, an area called Silicon Valley and the desert around it. It had been the place that spawned all the technology even then. I caught a glimpse of myself on one of the live broadcast screens, as well as Fuse. His nose was covered in blood. I smiled slightly, noticing this.

Grateful for the blast of artificially cool air inside the train car, I stepped quickly inside as soon as the many cameras let us. We were in a large car filled with tables, crystal, and more food than I'd ever seen in one place before. Fuse took a seat. _Never mind._ I didn't even want to be in the same compartment as him. I stepped into the corridor to go the other direction, but Theo, our escort, caught my arm. I winced at his grip on my scars.

"You can go to your rooms later. Right now you meet your mentors and talk strategy. If you were going for "fierce," by punching out your district partner, by the way, I don't think that'll work, You're just too little. Even if you are tough."

I bristled. _Little?_ Maybe I was five foot two in shoes and 105 soaking wet, but was he suggesting I was weak? I reluctantly walked back to the long table, heaped my plate with an absurd amount of every food, and sat in the seat furthest from Fuse. Beetee and Wiress introduced themselves and looked us both over. Fuse was mopping his face with a cloth napkin.

"What can you do?" Beetee asked us both.

"I'm not talking about my strengths in front of him, then he'll know," I snapped. "Ask us separately." I wasn't intending to talk up my strengths- I was only going into this to die. But I couldn't stand being around him any more. They agreed, so after about ten minutes of waiting on a couch in the next car, Beetee motioned me back in. I felt immediately more at ease with Fuse gone.

"So?" the thirty something inventor asked. "It can't be strength you're relying on, obviously. Though you can punch well. As you demonstrated. I'll assume you want to be coached separately."

I nodded. "I'm not strong. And unless there's really complicated electrical equipment in the arena. I'm doomed."

Wiress had been eyeing me with a mixture of suspicion and- concern? No, that couldn't be right. After a minute, I realized shamefacedly that at some point between the reaping and now, my sleeves had slid back, exposing some scars. "It looks like you know your way around…" she began, hesitating.

"A knife," Beetee finished for her.

I dropped my gaze. "Well, I don't hunt or work with them."

"But if you could just replicate what you did here on some tribute, you could kill. Just go for the neck rather than the arms," Beetee sighed.

"Let's not even try getting the crowd to like you," Wiress said tiredly. "You're just too abrasive. If you can pull off sweet or innocent, then I'm a tracker jacker."

I seemed to be wearing them out, so I stuffed down as much food as I could, then went to my compartment, making sure to lock the door. I didn't want Fuse repeating his attack. I watched the recap of the reapings alone that evening, not even leaving my room.

1 had its usual crop of Careers. A handsome blond boy who easily cleared two hundred pounds and six foot four, and a stunningly pretty but fierce-looking, classically blond girl. Both volunteers.

The boy from 2 was, if anything, even more monstrous- a redhead this time. Ha, at least he'd be easy to spot. His counterpart was smaller than I expected, but pretty, with long dark hair, olive skin, and green eyes, but still well taller and heavier than I was. There was a glint in her eye that scared me somehow. My one consolation was that besides her, the Careers so far didn't look very smart.

Then my district. I was pleased to hear the confident ring in my voice as I shouted, "I volunteer!" At least I would die with bravery. I strode forward. Then Fuse was drawn. Only a split second of pain crossed my face before that was replaced with a bestial fierceness, I saw. Then I hit him. The commentators weren't sure what to make of that, but speculated that my temper might make the games more exciting. They were wrong. I'd die within minutes of reaching the arena, all my "fierce" blotted out by my wish to die. Then something surprised me. "That was uncalled for," the male commentator, flamboyantly dressed in a plum velvet suit, said after they'd heard the slurs shouted at me His counterpart, a woman, nodded. I strained my brain for why they'd show me sympathy. Then I remembered what I'd seen of the Capitol on TV. And the stories. Being queer meant being hated in the districts for the most part. But in the Capitol, people were always doing things the districts saw as different and strange. Being queer was one of those things. There was, in fact, a sizable queer community there. I thought, probably because that was the one place in Panem where that was allowed.

4 had volunteers too. Another Career district. But they looked less monstrous, more like well-fed normal district kids. Still. Better not to underestimate them. The boy in particular looked strong.

5 was disastrous. Two twelve-year old twins, with identical dark brown hair and blue eyes, got called. Their mother's wails went on and on.

6 had a tall, though weedy seventeen-year-old girl, and a fifteen-year-old boy who looked rather like me, I thought with amusement. Though he was taller. Nearly everyone was.

7 had a determined-looking sixteen-year-old who kissed her boyfriend before mounting the stage. She looked fast, but not particularly strong. The boy picked couldn't be a day over fourteen, and was my height and size, though with lighter hair and brown eyes.

8 was a repeat of 5. Two friends were picked- at least I surmised that by the hug they gave each other on the stage. One was fourteen, maybe, the other barely looking old enough to be in the reaping ball.

9's boy, I think, was deaf. He was tall and not weak-looking, but someone had to shove him forward when they called his name, and he didn't seem like he heard the escort's instruction to shake hands with the girl. She was older, maybe even eighteen, but looked permanently starved.

Then 10. I actually paused the TV using some gadget we design in 3 to get a good look at the girl from there. Tall for a girl, with muted red-brown hair and blue eyes. And strong. Pretty. Something leapt in my chest. _No._ I quashed it. _She'll die anyway._ But there was no denying she took my breath away. My heart thumped painfully, and my mouth felt dry. I'd never felt this strongly at first sight before. I hit "play" again. God. Her niece and nephew screaming and clinging to her. Her determination. The mask over her pain. I knew she was all they had. She'd do anything to get back. They didn't look older than four. I didn't like to think what would happen to them if she didn't. I remembered only her name out of all the others. Katja Berlin. The boy from that district was unremarkable, a scared thirteen-year-old.

11. The boy had the same strong look about him that the Careers did, but there couldn't have been an ounce of extra fat on him. Still, he was one to watch out for. The girl was sixteen, but every bone in her face stood out. She wouldn't last long.

12. The girl was fourteen, and looked, if possible, more starved than any of the other tributes. Then a surprise. Her fifteen-year-old brother, identically skinny but with a fierce protective gleam in his eye, volunteered to protect her.

I fell asleep that night mulling over the exquisite face of the girl from 10, the pain in the children's eyes. Then woke up at 2 am as suddenly as if someone had yelled in my ear.

I was going to die in the arena even if I had wanted to live. But if I was going to die, that gave her a better chance of getting back to those kids. Wait. I hadn't told the mentors, but with my knowledge, and hopefully the right equipment in the arena, and a knife, I might be able to at least do some damage before I went down. And that would help her. The kids.

I wanted to die, but I could do one last good thing.

I was going to ally with Katja, if she'd have me. Fight for my life so I could help keep her alive. My last act. That would be worth dying for. And if those kids had a better life as a victor's relatives, at least my death wouldn't be a total waste.

I rolled over, and as I struggled back into sleep, thought about how to convince Beetee and Wiress that I actually did have talent when I'd told them earlier that I hadn't.


	4. Dead Eyes

**(A/N: I made Dalton be a victor here because I didn't think 10 had any living victors at this time, and I already know a bit about his character. This is different than the series, but he's not a major character here, so I don't think it makes a difference.)**

**Katja's POV**

The Peacekeepers hurried Alamo, who had obviously been crying, and I to the train platform. I hadn't been, because I knew I didn't have the luxury of tears. But who could blame him? He was just a kid, and he knew he would die. 10's tributes nearly always died in the initial bloodbath because the district was too poor for kids to train. Nor did most of us know any survival skills. And there was the unfortunate tendency for a higher-than-usual number of kids in 10 to be crippled. If a steer stamped on your foot, you'd be lucky not to lose it, and livestock accidents were common. I would have felt bad for Alamo if I hadn't known I'd need to kill him for Jack and Abby.

The dust from the high, rolling plains nearly choked us on the platform. The crowd was stirring it up, and 10 hadn't seen rain in weeks. I held my head as high as I could, shoulders straight. This was both to project confidence and try to keep dust out of my eyes so they wouldn't water. We had to wait a moment for the cameras to get us, and I tried for a winning smile. Success! To my surprise, I see on one of the screens broadcasting me that I look somehow _glad_ to have been chosen. It was part of my angle. Sure, I'd tell all of Panem how badly I wanted to get back to my niece and nephew, but I would play their game with enthusiasm, because the Capitol hated people who shrank from their inevitable demise. And the killing.

I hated myself for the game I was playing.

After the cameras, Cleopatra, our oxlike escort, almost shoved us into a train compartment. Even though I was trying to play a "strong" part, I gasped, awed by how luxurious it was. And the food. Everywhere, all sorts. More meat than I'd seen in my entire life, too, and my district's product was livestock. I couldn't help drawing a comparison between myself and an ox bound for slaughter at the moment. I stopped myself. _Don't even think it. Just think about getting home to them._ I moved towards the buffet to get a plate, figuring I'd need all the poundage I could get once in the arena. Especially because I didn't know much about what to eat in the wild. Then I noticed Alamo still standing, speechless, by the door.

I smiled at him. It was better for him not to see me as a threat. Then if I had to kill him, he wouldn't be on the defensive. "Come on. Eat. You'll need it." He shook his head, but sat down, looking too shocked and sad to function. So I got us both plates, and once he saw his, his hunger took over.

Dalton and Cleopatra gave us a few minutes to start stuffing food in our mouths before Cleopatra spoke. "We'll be in the Capitol early tomorrow morning, and you'll go right to your stylists. Frankly, I never like 10's costumes, but just put up with it. And anything else they do. Katja. Your reaping was powerful stuff, with your niece and nephew begging you not to leave-" at this I blinked a few times, forcing back emotion "-so use that to your advantage."

"I was planning to," I said curtly. "Capitol people are so sentimental."

"But you also need to act enthusiastic. They like that. You've been doing well with how you appear so far. Very camera ready, just perfect. Just keep it up, especially the standing up straight and holding your head high. You look more confident that way. And you're fit enough. Show it off." She turned her attention to Alamo. "I really don't know. You're only 13 and from such a poor district. Try innocent and humble. Compliment everything about the Capitol. Talk about how much you want to get home to your parents. Look awed for the cameras. Try to be cute and likable."

She went on in this vein for both of us for a few minutes, talking on about camera presentation and Capitol etiquette. Dalton hadn't said a word yet. When Cleopatra finally tired, he spoke. His voice was soft for such a tall, impressive-looking twenty something.

"So what can you do? I can ask you separately if you like."

I was about to speak when Alamo blurted out, "You don't need to ask me separately, I don't know anything, I'm going to die in there!" His teeth clamped down on his lower lip in an ineffectual attempt to stop himself from crying. Dalton ignored this and turned to look at me. "You look strong and fed enough. By 10 standards. Try to put on a few pounds though." I nodded and motioned to my heaping plate. I was already feeling uncomfortably full and I wasn't even a third done.

"I work getting the cattle to the stockyards when I needed money for Jack and Abby. I've had to take down several before when they've attacked or broken out. I can use a club. And I guess I am strong." I hesitated before continuing, then smiled again at Alamo, using just the right light, friendly tone. "Why don't you take your plate and go into that next car? I think I saw a really cool TV. Go enjoy yourself before they send us in."

Like a fool, he bought it. I smirked as he left. Then turned back to Dalton. "As you may have guessed from what I just did, plus my performance for the cameras at the reaping, I know how to deal with people. I'm smart. I manipulate people back home when I need to, to feed the kids. I can play whatever angle I think will work on a person. Emotions, logic, bargaining, whatever. I could get sponsors that way. And what's more, I know how other people think and feel even without being told. From the smallest glimpse. But what will help the most is that I can predict what people will think and do. For example, if I was in the arena with a weapon, I might do something to draw the other tributes to an area I was holding. Like a fire or a noise. If that turned up a single tribute, I'd just leap from a hiding place and kill them. If it brought the Career pack, I'd either do something that would start an argument between them, which would force the pack to split early and let me take them on one by one, or hide and then track them back to their camp so I could spy on them. Bottom line is, I can strategize. My best weapon would be to out-think."

I had no intention of hiding any talents from my team. I needed those sponsors if I was going to get home. "So do you want to play a sly angle?" Dalton asked.

I shook my head. "No. As I said, the Capitol loves sentimentality. I'll play smart and determined, and tear at people's heartstrings whenever I can. My niece and nephew are almost like weapons here." He and Cleopatra agreed that it was an excellent idea, and Dalton looked happy at the thought of mentoring someone who might actually have a chance. "The Cornucopia," I continued. "Should I figure out what to do with that now?"

Dalton looked grim again. "No, it wouldn't be much use. Wait until you see your competition."

He, Cleopatra, Alamo, and I all watched the recap later that day, as the sun set ominously bloodred through the large windows. 1 and 2 were all volunteers, and three of them were so huge and vicious-looking I felt terrified just seeing them on-screen. The girl from 2 was not as physically intimidating, but I know how to read people. She was nothing more than a psychopath.

Then I saw and heard something that jolted me out of my numb terror of the Careers. It brought me from terror to a simultaneous feeling like my heart was being ripped from my chest, along with the odd feeling, stronger than ever now, that I'd felt once before, for the only crush I'd ever name was Tegan, and her time on-screen showed me everything about her. I read her every step, every expression on her face. She was visibly, obviously queer too. Something leapt in my chest at this. _Maybe we…don't. Never mind it. She'll die anyway. She actually __**wants**__ to._ Before her face turned fierce, before she attacked her district partner, her green eyes were absolutely dead-looking. i didn't miss her long sleeves in the desert heat either, or the scars inadequately covered. I also didn't miss that split second of complete hurt and terror that flashed across her face when the boy's name was called. I figured out what must have happened between them in about three seconds.

But what made my heart break most was that dead look juxtaposed with her unorthodox, damaged beauty. Soft, short dark brown hair, wiry and well-built, with fine features that looked like a Renaissance painting. I couldn't stop staring at her. When her dead eyes caught the camera, I felt like I'd been hit with a cattle prod.

Those eyes seemed burned into my brain even as the show moved on to all the other districts. Distracted, I barely noticed anything about the others, beyond noting to watch out for 4 and the boy from 11. Luckily, Dalton took notes.

I was exhausted when the recaps were finally done, and went straight to my compartment, an over-the-top bedroom with the softest sheets I'd ever felt in my life. Despite the comforts and my tiredness, I had a lot of trouble sleeping, and not because of nerves about the arena. Tegan's dead look haunted me.

Finally on the edge of real sleep, the answer came to me. The Careers were all so monstrous that there was no chance of my getting into the pack. But to win, I would do much better with an ally. Tegan was from Three. Three was always known for its smart tributes and unusual arena traps. In addition, she looked fast and strong for her small size. Tougher than the Careers would think. Combine that with my understanding of how people act, and perhaps, just perhaps, we could design the perfect traps. And I wouldn't have to feel too much guilt about killing her, I firmly told my guilty brain. She wanted to die. I couldn't ignore that strange feeling I felt for her, too. It made me want to protect her somehow.

I fell asleep at one a.m. debating how to get her to ally with me when all she wanted was probably to go off alone and die quickly


	5. Tributes List

**(A/N: This is just a short chapter, the tributes list. since I uploaded two chapters yesterday. And it's necessary here to fill in the details about the other tributes, since after all there are 24 tributes.)**

District 1:

Female: Diamond Fox, 17. 5'10", 150 pounds. Long blond hair usually in a braid, blue eyes. Quite beautiful, this makes sponsors like her. Weapon: Ax, dagger, strength, speed. Career.

Male: Platinum Michaels, 18. 6'5", 210 pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes, like Diamond, though not related. Handsome, sponsors like him. Weapon: Spear, strength, aim. Career.

District 2:

Female: Quartz Kath, 18. 5'4, 125 pounds. Small for a Career, but extremely vicious and bloodthirsty. Shoulder-length dark brown hair, brown eyes. Sponsors like her bloodlust, but find her a bit crazy. Weapon: Knives, speed, stealth. Career.

Male: Michael Granite, 6'6, 225 pounds. 18. Largest of all the tributes. Red hair, blue eyes. Favorite of the sponsors. Weapon: Sword, strength, sheer size. Career.

District 3:

Female: Tegan Jagger, 15. 5'2, 105 pounds. Short dark brown hair, green eyes. Not liked by sponsors. Small but fierce. Good with technology. Weapon: Intelligence, speed, can speak German, one other skill she improves on while in the Training Center that you'll find out later. Ally with Katja.

Male: Fuse Jacobson, 16. 5'8", 145 pounds. Merchant's kid, so well-fed. Stupid, but rather strong and mean. Weapon: Strength, Taser-like device. Alone.

District 4:

Female: Angela Erie, 16. 5'6", 140 pounds. A few years' training, well-fed. Argues with the Career pack before the arena and so ends up alone. Weapon: Dagger, best swimmer in the arena.

Male: Seiche Morris. 17 6'0", 175 pounds. Well-fed, a few years' training, though not as much as 1 and 2. Tan, light brown hair, gray eyes. Weapon: Trident, strength.

District 5:

Female: Megan Tanner. 12. 4'8", 70 pounds. Never well-fed, no real skills. Dark brown hair, blue eyes. Allies with her twin, Nash. No weapon.

Male: Nash Tanner. 12. 4'9, 75 pounds. Same situation as his twin, identical looks.

District 6:

Female: Jess Harkat, 17. 5'9", 130 pounds. No special skills. Brown hair, brown eyes. Alone.

Male: David Logan, 15. 5'6", 135 pounds. Dark brown hair, green eyes (looks similar to Tegan, but taller.) No particular skill. Alone.

District 7:

Female: Rafaela Oregon, 16. 5'5", 130 pounds. Long brown hair, blue eyes. Weapon: Speed, ax, tree-climbing. Alone.

Male: Birch Tucker, 14. 5'2, 110 pounds. Brown hair, brown eyes. No real skill, but can climb. Alone.

District 8:

Female: Rayon Brown, 14. 5'5", 125 pounds. Blond hair, gray eyes. No skill. Alone.

Male: Dean Finnegan, 12. 4'10", 85 pounds. Blond hair, brown eyes. No skill. Allies with Rayon.

District 9:

Female: Lupine Sands, 18. 5'5", 120 pounds. Underfed. Brown hair, green eyes. No skill. Alone.

Male: Dean Blake, 17. 5'10", 160 pounds. Light brown hair, blue eyes. Deaf. Weapon: Strength, fighting spirit. Alone.

District 10:

Female: Katja Berlin, 17. 5'8", 155 pounds. Long reddish-brown hair, blue eyes. Rather pretty. Left behind a niece and nephew she was raising. Weapon: Intelligence, can understand and read people and manipulate sponsors, strength, club, can speak German. Sponsors like her. Allies with Tegan.

Male: Alamo Skye, 13. 5'1", 100 pounds. Dark brown hair, blue eyes. Small, unskilled, quiet. Goes unnoticed a lot. Alone.

District 11:

Male: Jackson West, 17. 6'0", 145 pounds. African-American. Dark brown hair, hazel eyes. Strong but underfed. Weapon: Strength, club. Alone.

Female: Brist Regulus, 16. 5'4", 110 pounds. African-American. Dark brown hair, brown eyes. Underfed, unskilled. Alone.

District 12:

Female: Leevy Granger, 14. 5'3", 100 pounds. Dark brown hair, gray eyes. Very thin, underfed, unskilled. Allies with her brother.

Male: Stephen Granger, 15. 5'6", 130 pounds. Dark brown hair, gray eyes. Also underfed, unskilled, but protective to Leevy. Allies with her.


	6. Through the Curtain

**(Tegan's POV.)**

Theo banged on my compartment door stupidly early the next morning. I doubt I'd gotten five hours' sleep. "Come on, Ms. Jagger. Time to get up, we're going to come out of the tunnel through the mountains in about ten minutes. Then it's the Capitol, and you'll need to greet the crowds. And the stylists are waiting for you."

"Okay, whatever." I yawned and put on a clean shirt from the Capitol's endless supply of clothes in the huge closet. Then I went into the bathroom to wash my face, and re-gel my hair. No point washing it- the stylists would just make it all up again. But I stuck it back up into its characteristic spikes along my hairline. Sleeping on my side had made it droop.

Quickly, I walked into the dining car, staying wary of Fuse. But I knew to keep Katja alive, a few more pounds couldn't hurt, so I quickly stuffed down a giant breakfast of the heaviest-looking food, most of which I barely recognized. My favorite were the round, thick rolls with a hole in them, which I topped with something the Capitol attendant told me was salmon. I barely even recognized fish, being poor in Three's desert, but it was incredible. After three and a half of those plus fruit and two cups of coffee, we emerged from the tunnel.

I couldn't help it. Even with everything else on my mind, I had to see the Capitol. Apparently it was beautiful beyond measure, like rainbows made substantive. And looking out the window, waving, playing the crowds could help with impressions. With sponsors. With keeping her alive. And those kids.

_You'll get back to them,_ I swore.

I didn't need to fake the awestruck expression on my face as we pulled towards the city center. But the people. The fake, silly, odd people, dyed hair, makeup, even dyed skin, surgically altered. I even saw that a large dog had a pedicure. And in that first glimpse, I hated them all. Shallow. Stupid. My death on live TV was no more than a bet, a game, a few hours' entertainment.

I usually never hid it when I hated someone. But now I'd have to. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done, my mind and heart locked in constant conflict with my face, but I looked out the window and smiled at them. They were going nuts for me. After a few minutes of this, something caught my eye; a banner painted in all of the artificially bright colors of the rainbow. A few people, looking even more gaudy and colorful than those around them, held it. I noticed that the woman on one end of it was holding hands with another woman. Then the banner's message sunk in.

_"We support Tegan Jagger, the first gay tribute. If you escaped the closet, you can escape the Games!"_

I didn't need to hide my hate as much any longer. Smiling even wider, I waved and blew them a kiss. "Thank you!"

Then we're off the train. Fortunately, my handlers immediately separated me from Fuse. Tributes went to their stylists alone. I just had time to read the sign over the massive steel doors that said "Remake Center" before they'd practically shoved me into a curtained cubicle in a much larger room.

I waited a tense three minutes before my prep team showed up. All women, thank God. I didn't know what I'd do otherwise. They told me their names, but they all sounded so ridiculous, and they all looked rather alike, with long, blown-out white-blond hair and scarily purple eyes, that I constantly mixed up who was who. One had pink streaks in her hair, the other metallic gold, and the other electric blue.

"Tegan, we need to have a look at our raw material," the gold-streaked one said. I almost laughed. Raw material. Poor choice of words. Then my amusement quickly turned to panic, I'd never let anyone see before. But the mentors had told us to do whatever the prep team and stylists said.

So I peeled off my Capitol clothes.

The reaction was immediate. Pink streaks ran out of the room, blue went a delicate shade of green, and gold streaks collapsed onto the nearest chair.

"_Raw _material," I did laugh this time. Their reactions were just so absurd. "I hope the one with the pink in her hair went to get my stylist. Might have to redo some of your designs."

After another ten or fifteen minutes of their complete disgust and shock, they did pull it together enough to at least have a slightly closer look. Then my stylist, I guess, swept in, looking at once frustrated, shocked, and repulsed. She ordered the prep team out, her long, midnight-black hair sweeping in a wide sheet. Her eyes were gold, and her entire face was covered with what were either tattoos or designs drawn with eyeliner.

"Stand there," she directed me towards the middle of the room. "My name's Taylor, and now I can't use half the costume prototypes I have because of _these!" _Her last word was almost a shriek. "Now I have to base my whole fashion decision-making process on what will cover you!"

Everyone left me alone after that. Ten minutes. Twenty. I could hear a constant background babble of voices and running water. So all the tributes were in the same room, only separated by these curtains. Somewhere, I heard Katja's voice. "Thank you so much for helping me look beautiful! There's not a lot of beauty in Ten." Even from far away and without seeing her face, I could tell she was faking her enthusiasm. I listened with doglike tenacity until I didn't hear her or her attendants any more. Then got up without really thinking about it, put on my flimsy robe, and stepped out of my curtained area.

Luckily, the areas were marked. It would have been a simple matter to find "10, F," if I hadn't had to sneak around the people constantly milling around and carrying things in and out. Still, I found myself at her curtain in about five minutes, and slipped in, barely moving it.

"Katja Berlin," I said simply in German. "I'm Tegan Jagger, and you'll need an ally if you want to get back to your niece and nephew."

She nodded, looking at me with a mixture of suspicion, surprise and something more intense I couldn't at all place. "I will. Three's got a "smart" reputation. Are you? You seem tougher than you look, too." She responded in German as well.

This was no time to be modest. "I do really well in school and the factories. I can get a charge out of anything. Just a few months ago, I suggested an upgrade to the Tasers that the Peacekeepers use. I know electricity. If there's technology in the arena, I'll at least be able to take some down., I…"

"Provided you don't die first in the bloodbath," Katja cut in. "I think I could help you there. I'm not a Career, but with the week in the Training Center, I could hold off the pack at the Cornucopia long enough to run in and get supplies. You don't even try to go into that fight. Just clear out, hide, and I'll meet you."

I nodded again. "I know knives, I've…been hurting myself for years. So I know where to cut or stab, and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty either. You look strong. That, and the kids- they need you- that's why I want to have an alliance."

Katja analyzed me with a long stare. "But there's more than that. I think we both know this is about more than getting me home. And for me, it's about more than getting home too. I don't want you to die, and if it came down to it, I could never kill you. I want to protect you too much, and, well…I like girls too. Especially you. I saw so much in just the few seconds of your reaping." She took my hand, and I found myself not wanting to pull it away.

After several seconds of intense staring, I concluded she was telling the truth. So I told it in return. "I want to die in the arena. I volunteered so I could die. But I feel the same way you do. Saving you will be the last good thing."

Then I heard footsteps feet from where we were, squeezed her strong, callused hand in my bony one, and darted out before I saw Katja's reaction.

**Katja's POV.**

I sat stunned as I heard Tegan slip away, masked somewhat by my stylist re-entering. She'd left before I could say what was crucial, "But I don't want you to die." My choice was stark. Save her, or save Jacob and Abby by returning to them.

I couldn't kill Tegan. I had to protect her. Hopefully someone else would, and then I could avenge her in the end by killing him or her


	7. At Least

**(A/N: I'm going to law school in a week! Going to try to write some more before then. Sorry for delays.)**

(Katja's POV)

I sat numbly as my stylist entered, chattering meaningless words I barely heard at all. All I _could_ hear was the hard resolve in Tegan's voice, and underneath it, undetectable to anyone unless they had my talents, the tiniest quaver of pain and trauma.

Alamo, my district partner, and I, are cows again. This stylist has been here for ten years, and under him, we've never been anything else.

But this year, not cows in the ridiculous, full-body suits that have been the fashion of the past few years. It's hard to draw the crowd's eyes to cow costumes, he explained, but we need to show your district's industry. And you're young and fit.

I knew what my costume would be before he told me. But I remembered what Dalton said. I didn't object.

I choked on the fumes that evening as he carefully spray-painted black-and-white spots, designs, and brands over my body. I was wearing a white bikini, so I was technically covered enough to be shown on live TV, and an additional accessory I almost objected to on the spot. A huge, golden-horned helmet. It weighed at least ten pounds, and just keeping my neck upright under its weight was an effort.

But I had always been such a private person. My face flamed at the thought of being shown like this, wearing so little in front of all of Panem.

Black-and-white spotted nails. Black eyeliner, white eyeshadow, glittery powder on my cheeks, my eyelashes curled, darkened, lengthened. When I caught the first glimpse of myself in the full-length mirrors of the studio, I had to stifle a laugh. Then smiled for real. I looked really stupid, but maybe Tegan would appreciate the view.

_Stop it_, I snapped at myself a second later. _Don't think like that. You have no future with her. She wants to die in the arena. You can't save her- only save Jack and Abby. _

Something flashed- at least, that's the best way I could think of to describe these things when they happened- in my brain. I could never explain them, and usually understood what they meant only after the fact. They were the future. Well, yes, and no. Ever since I was a really little kid, I would get these rare flashes. An image of myself somewhere, or doing something, would pop unbidden into my head. These images were so split-second, and usually didn't show any people or familiar objects, that I wouldn't know what they meant until months or even years later. Then, I would find myself looking at the object I had seen in the flash, or doing the thing I had seen myself doing. I had only just realized the last time it had happened, that these were a kind of future sight.

_Tegan's spiky but soft hair was mussed against against a thick white pillow. Most of her body was tucked carefully under light blue sheets, except for one arm carelessly thrown out of their confining warmth. It was scarred, but I hardly noticed. Leaning over, I kissed her forehead._

I pinched myself to stop thinking about the flash. That was no future sight like the others had been. I just liked her so much that it was messing with my unconscious.

Only one of us could live. With difficulty, I forced her out of my mind as my stylist explained how we would behave during the chariot rides. "You've been working a determined angle, and Dalton told me your…special skill at manipulating people. So I want you to look strong, determined, as you always have been so far. And you're pretty. What with your costume, you could be provocative."

I snorted.

"Or not," he backpedaled. "Dalton said to leave how you act on the chariot ride up to you, since you're good with people."

(Tegan's POV)

My costume was finally ready, after hours of consultation and examination. I felt like I was going to scream if those Capitol people looked at my scars for another second. Taylor had originally wanted me in a black dress covered with lights that blinked and flashed colorful patterns according to the wearer's mood and heart rate. But it was sleeveless, so that option was out. And anyway, I wouldn't.

"I am not wearing a dress!" I had spat at her earlier as we "discussed our options." I knew Beetee had told us not to fight with our stylists, but this was the one thing I was standing my ground on.

"But at your reaping, Theo thought you were a boy!" she had laughed. "Surely you don't want that mix-up again?"

"I. Don't. Care. I'm not girly! This is my identity you're messing with by trying to tell me how to dress!"

We'd argued for several more minutes. Finally, she had acquiesced. "The Capitol's gay community would like me better in a suit anyway," I told her, trying to smooth things over a little so she wouldn't completely ugly me up.

She was prepping and dressing my marred body now, completely silent, scowling. Maybe she was afraid if she talked, she'd give voice to her revulsion. There was something like fear in her eyes. Between seeing me punch Fuse on live TV and seeing now the viciousness I was capable of, even if only directed towards myself, she saw me as unstable. Mad. Fierce.

But that was the girl from 2's territory. I had a different angle. Katja could help with that, but mainly, I was counting on what was in my head, not in my muscles, to make sure she won.

I sighed with relief as Taylor had me put my outfit on. That long exposure, scrutiny, all those people _seeing, _ was an experience almost as intensely uncomfortable as being "out" in my district was.

She had gone with the suit after all. I felt a surge of gratitude. It covered everything. All of Panem might know now that I was queer, and my romance with Katja might have to play out under hundreds of cameras, but at least I could keep my darkest secret. It was simple- black, well-tailored, body-hugging, but unusually heavy, feeling like it had weights in it. I didn't see how this represented my district at all. It just looked like rather drab by Capitol standards of formalwear. "Wait!" she chirped, turning off the lights in the room. I stood confused in front of the darkened wall of mirrors until she reached for my wrist. I was about to jerk it away when I realized the cufflinks were buttons, and she'd just activated them.

I gasped aloud. Patterns of ever-changing twinkling and glowing lights in several shades of blue covered the suit from head to toe. "Thank you," I said, for once sincere. "This is incredible."

"Isn't it amazing! It's my own design, I'm so proud! You'll match Fuse, but depending on the circumstances, you may end up being different colors from each other. See, the lights are hooked to magnets in the suit which are hooked to biological sensors on the very inside of the lining. So every time your mood changes, the colors will change! It's a technological marvel, really shows off what Three does!"

I scowled. I did _not _want to match Fuse. I did not want to ride in the same chariot with him. Even be in the same building. But this costume would catch people's attention. Maybe, just maybe, give me an edge.

My suit blazed, suddenly bloodred. "That's anger," Taylor said quietly. "It has several emotions and colors. Try them."

I thought of Katja. Her piercing eyes, her long, soft hair, the feel of that instant of her hand in mine. I was only trying for "happy," to see what color that would be.

But my suit turned a deep pink. I blushed several shades darker than it. "What's this? I was trying to see what happy looked like."

"That's not happy, dear," Taylor said, more kindly than she'd spoken to me ever before. "That's in love. Did you leave some girl back home?"

"You'll just have to see what happens," I said mysteriously.

Before I could try any more emotions, it was time to go. As soon as they made me stand next to Fuse in the chariot, my suit flashed bloodred and stayed there. His was a blotchy purple. Excitement and anger. "Going to hit me again, sweetheart?" he leered.

I couldn't now. Everything was ready. "You just wait for the arena," I growled. "If I do nothing else, I'm killing you. And because it's you, I'll play with my food before I eat it."

He laughed in my face. We stood apart, pretending the other didn't exist, as the chariot rolled out. I could see right away that we were getting a lot of attention. I saw another rainbow banner, one with my name on it, somewhere in the crowd. At first only that small group was shouting my name, but then many other Capitol people find mine and Fuse's names in the programs. Now to start my angle.

"Thank you!" I shouted at the banner-holding knot of people. "I'm here, I'm queer, and I can do this!" But it was of Katja I thought to force myself to keep waving and smiling.

Finally, we were at the City Circle. Only now could I see all of the chariots and other tributes. My eyes were immediately drawn to Ten and Katja. She was wearing almost nothing, and blushing fiercely under my gaze! I was a bit shocked, but found myself enjoying the view. Toned, painted flesh, strong and supple- but I couldn't help but think she'd be prettier without all that Capitol makeup.

Before I could stop myself, I'd shouted her name. "Tegan, your suit!" she called back.

It had just changed back to that pink, which found itself competing with the red of my anger, making a deep, beautiful hue like the desert sunset. "Thank you! You're not so bad yourself! You make a good cow!"

Big laughs from the Capitol crowd. I'd just helped her. Her costume hadn't stood out, but this exchange would. She knew just what to do. Smiling, she batted her eyelashes and _mooed_ at me, then said, "I'm sure my little niece and nephew back in Ten are laughing at me now! I told them I'd be back, so they aren't worried."

We would have continued acting, but then Snow took the stage. A long, dull speech. Then we're back to the Training Center. I jumped off before the chariot fully stopped, eager to get away from Fuse as fast as possible. Without really considering it, I ripped the sleeve of the suit to yank out a few of the magnets. You never knew what might be useful.

I hung back from the other tributes and their entourages going up; Katja saw me and did the same. We both pretended to be so enthralled with our costumes that we couldn't stop checking them out in our ghostly reflections in the mirrors. Finally, there were only a few people left.

(Katja's POV)

What did Tegan want? I wanted the time alone as much as she did, but what did she have to say? The elevator came back down, empty, and I slipped in, motioning for her to follow. One of the mentors from another district tried to get in, too, but I tripped him. By the time he got to his feet, the doors were an inch from closed.

"Too bad," I smirked. "So."

"So." Tegan repeated. "You're six inches taller or so. Bend down. I need to tell you something."

I did as she asked, lowering my head and shoulders. I had never been this close to her eyes before, and just now noticed they were flecked with gold. "I can't talk loudly here," she whispered. "Put your face closer."

(Tegan's POV)

It was working, it was working, it was working! My suit flashed back and forth between a dozen different colors as my heart flung itself against my ribs. Katja's blue eyes were an inch from mine, her long, fine auburn hair tickling my shoulder. But, more importantly, her lips were close, too. I stared into those blue eyes, and saw her realization.

(Katja's POV)

I had always been so good at reading people! How could I have missed something this obvious? It clicked into place now. And we only had a minute together. I put a hand gently into the gel-spiked hair at the base of her skull, and she took my shoulder to steady herself. We both pulled closer.

It was impossible to tell who had kissed who. All I knew what that my lips met hers for a brief, blissful few seconds. The feel of her hair, the smell of her even under all those Capitol scents, her impossibly long eyelashes, her lips chapped from the desert heat, were overwhelming.

_How sad, _I thought, _that she wants to die. But at least I've given her this- well, not given her. I wanted it just as badly. _

(Tegan's POV)

It had worked! I stifled a gleeful grin as I pulled myself closer, and she guided my head to hers. Her hands, so strong and calloused, felt unbearably gentle in my hair. At least I would get this before death in the arena. Maybe if the odds were in our favor, we might survive a few days in it. But the opportunities for kissing there would be close to nonexistent. My suit felt warm, as though it would overheat from having to turn so many different colors all at once.

It was only a few seconds. Her lips were so soft, unlike my dry, chewed ones. Underneath all the perfumes, she had a clean, crisp, soft scent that I couldn't get enough of. Her hair was like glowing silk in my fingers.

_At least I had this. But don't love me too much, Katja. You'll have to be able to kill me in the end, if it comes to that. _


	8. Talking Strategy

**(A/N: I'd really like to finish this, but I am in my first year of law school! So.)**

**Katja's POV**

Training started tomorrow. After the chariot rides and a rather uncomfortable interrogation from Dalton as to why I had come back so late from the chariot rides, and why Tegan and I had gone up in the elevator alone- the mentor we'd tripped had told everyone- we talked strategy.

Dalton sighed, but looked determinedly at me. "Remember to focus on the survival skills. We lack those in Ten, and I know you were feeding your family through doing extra work and your "people skills", not through hunting. First, figure out what's poisonous. Make sure to do fires and maybe learn a few snares. Pick up a new weapon, but don't do hand-to-hand combat or reveal how strong you are. You might not be a Career, but you are stronger than a lot of the tributes, and I…you don't want to try to join the pack, right?"

I shook my head so hard my heavy, shining black-and-white Capitol earrings, still on from the chariot ride, rattled. "I might play people, but I'm not going to be a pawn."

Dalton nodded. "Don't draw attention to yourself. But you can't get away with seeming very weak either, obviously. Have you thought about an alliance? The pack's out, but you'd be able to team up with almost anyone else. You're such a good manipulator, you'd persuade them."

"Tegan." I said simply. "From Three."

"Three's tributes are usually smart. I've talked to Beetee, and he said she definitely is. It could be a good complement to your strength. However…" he paused. "If you want to keep the spotlight off yourself, teaming up with the first openly gay tribute, who also has quite a temper, and the gossip says she's pretty unstable, isn't a good idea."

"I know. Don't care." I snapped. I knew, deep down, he had a point. Dalton always tried hard with Ten's tributes. They often made the top eight, but hadn't won since his Games.

"I saw the reaping tapes. She has no chance of winning, but she volunteered from a non-Career district. I think she wants to die. You can have her as an ally- I can't tell you what to do, and anyway, given your skills, I wouldn't want to. Just don't go into these Games protecting her at your own cost."

I swallowed painfully, forcing myself to think of Jack and Abby instead of the jumbled, shattered mess of feelings I had for Tegan. "I won't. But I do want her as an ally. Put in the request."

"No problem. Beetee will say yes, Three rarely has any allies. Do you want to train with her?"

I shrugged, keeping the smile carefully off my face. "I'll see what she says." I could have days to talk to her if we did! Give her something she never had before. A friend, a lover…well, a something. Someone. Even though I was intimidated by training the next day, I went to sleep easily, with my smile so huge in the dark that it felt like my face would break.

**Tegan's POV.**

I almost screamed with frustration when I saw the training outfit all the tributes had to wear. Short sleeves. Instead, I settled for aiming a vicious kick at the bedroom wall. This did nothing more than cause me a sharp pain in my foot, but that helped focus me on my task at hand. Training started today. I knew I would be dead within a week or so, but I found myself smiling. At least I'd see Katja today. I stripped off the underclothes I'd slept in and hurried into the shower, almost running past the full-length mirror that covered one entire bathroom wall. I was so scarred I couldn't even look at myself without being fully clothed.

I couldn't make sense of all the buttons and knobs that covered one entire wall, so I spent a full ten minutes reading all of the labels and marveling before picking out what I wanted. It was perfect. An extremely long, hot shower, then steam bursts that filled the whole bathroom, making the shower stall a sauna, followed by a cool rinse. I found cucumber melon shower gel, and clean-smelling shampoo and conditioner, the only things that didn't reek of Capitol perfume.

Stepping out, I reluctantly dressed in the training outfit- black pants and a gray t-shirt- and rummaged through the giant bathroom cabinet for hair gel. I was pleased to find its texture was much stronger and richer than what I'd always used in Three- maybe it would make my hair stay how I wanted it all day. I spiked up the front and sides , examining myself much more carefully than usual. Then, I looked through an array of odd, colorful products on one shelf. Everything was so bright, but after some digging, I found two small black tubes, reading "eyeliner" and "mascara." Several minutes later, I had my look. The heavy black liquid outlined the edges of both eyelids, making my green eyes stand starkly out against my pale skin, and the mascara made my eyelashes look five times longer.

I could hear Fuse in the hall, passing my room on his way to breakfast. Part of me just wanted to stay in my room and order all the food I could want, but I also wanted Fuse to see what he had done to me. What he had caused. No one could ignore the obvious marks that ran every few inches from both of my shoulders to wrists.

I walked to the dining hall. Sat down as far from him as I could, piling my plate with three times as much food, especially protein, as I thought I could manage. I noticed they'd set out more of the salmon and bagels I so enjoyed. Beetee and Wiress were already there, and they sent me out into the next room first, so they could discuss training with him. Fuse eventually came into the living room so I could talk with the mentors by myself, too, and sneered "Dyke," trying to shove me. But I was fast. I dodged him.

"You have an alliance request." Beetee began. "From Ten. Katja Berlin. Dalton asked really late last night."

I nodded, biting my lip to keep from shouting with glee. I could spend the last days of my life with the girl I loved! I would be able to do one last good thing by protecting her, helping her win. "I agree to that."

Neither of them had much to say about training strategy; just to learn survival skills, a weapon, and to stay away from technology. I already knew that. My brain would be my one asset in getting Katja back to her family, and it was vital that none of the other tributes know how smart I was, except her.

Before I knew it, I was standing in the training room. Katja was already there, as was her district partner and the Careers. She smiled at me, and I felt something I hadn't felt in years. Happiness. I felt myself smiling, too, for real. I'd never smiled and meant it until I met her. I moved towards her and motioned for her to stand at the back of the group of tributes so we could talk, which was completely unnecessary. We spoke German; it wouldn't matter if we were overheard, because no one could understand us. "It's official. Allies," Katja said quietly. I nodded. We were standing much closer than strictly necessary, but not touching.

I started to scrutinize the Career pack, so I wasn't looking at her. But then I felt her take my hand, and briefly looked down at our linked fingers. It felt right, felt natural, was all I ever wanted. I was so surprised by this contact, in public in front of all of our potential killers no less, that I was speechless, but I made no move to pull away.

"S-so, do you want to train together or separately?" I eventually stammered.

"Together, I think. Except for weapons. Your mentor said to pick up a weapon too? We should learn separate ones."

"Let's stay together for today. Focus on survival and plan an arena strategy. I…don't want to leave you," I blurted, turning several shades of red.

Katja laughed, the sound odd in a room full of kids that would all be dead soon, but welcome. When I would be dying in the arena, I thought, and needed a happy memory, I would remember that sound of her laugh. "It's all right. I don't want to either."

So we trained together, learning edible plants, fires, snares, a bit of camouflage, and at her insistence, climbing. "What if there are trees in the arena?" she insisted. "Neither of our districts really has many of them, and we're smaller, so we need to be able to get away." Being naturally light and fast, it came surprisingly easy to me, and I helped her where her extra weight and strength ended up being a burden.

All was fine until I stopped at the knife station, just for a minute, and went to pick one up. After all that time hurting myself- who knows, I might be proficient with them. "Ms. Jagger?" the trainer enquired.

"What?" I snapped.

"I'm sorry, but you're not allowed to use this station," he said, shifting his weight uncomfortably, staring at my scars. "The stylists said that you…well…anyway, if I let you use this station, I could end up with an injured or dead tribute before the games even started. You, that is."

I was ready to silently storm out, but Katja caught up with me by the doors and managed to calm me down so I would stay for the last hour.

**Katja's POV.**

Dinner that night with Dalton and Alamo passed in a blur. All I could think about was Tegan, holding her hand, how I wanted more. And a part of me thought I would be better able to protect her if she was with me. So I made a very rash decision. I left my apartment. When Dalton asked where I was going, I said, "Getting Tegan. We need to discuss strategy some more."

I ran into her in the elevator; she got in just when it stopped on her floor. "I was just on my way to see you!" she exclaimed.

"I was just coming to get you," I replied. "I thought you might want to get away from your district partner and talk some more strategy. In my room, maybe? So no one overhears?"

"I was just coming up to ask you that."

"That makes things very easy, then. My room it is."

Dalton gave us an odd look when we came in to Ten's apartment and immediately to my room, shutting and locking the door. No strategy was discussed that night. Instead, we kissed, talked about our homes, our lives, funny moments, cried, cuddled, held each other, and kissed some more.

As the sun rose over the too-bright Capitol the next morning, and I gazed at her small, scarred but still beautiful body in a t-shirt and boy shorts next to me in the bed, my thoughts weren't of home for once, but simply, _I'm so glad I could have this before the end_


End file.
